Bloodlines
by Larien Mithrandir
Summary: A collection of one-shots about the boys' pasts, their thoughts on life, and random happenings around Mordhaus. Rated M for language, alcohol consumption, drug abuse, and sexual content. Reviews are appreciated!
1. Pints

**A/N:** Oh, dear sweet Jebas!! Larien is writing another chapter fiction!! And it's going to be posted as chapters are written!! Ha~! Don't hold your breath…Lucky for all you readers out there, this fiction doesn't follow any storyline like "True Desire" was. And yes, it's more Dethklok…Read, review, and enjoy!!

~Larien~

**Pints**

Most men measured their lives by their achievements or by the size of their bank accounts, but not Pickles. No, he was a different sort of man. He measured his life in pints. Hell, some nights he could measure in cases!

For instance, there was the first night Tony shot heroine into his balls. That night, Pickles had emptied two whole cases of Guinness by the time they decided that Tony would not, in fact, die of an overdose. It had been a scary night, but it hadn't been an uncommon one. Tony had decided he _liked_ shooting heroine into his balls. As this occurred more and more, Pickles grew more accustomed to it, ergo he no longer needed to drink two cases of anything to get through the ordeal.

Then there was the time that some dumb shit had told the media that Pickles did not drink as much as he claimed to drink. Well, Pickles had showed that fucker, hadn't he? He'd drank case after case of countless brands of alcohol, living blackout to blackout. Nathan still hadn't forgiven him for not pressing the record button for that Shakespeare project.

Oh, and the time they all thought Charlie was dead! He had nearly gotten alcohol poisoning on several occasions during those nine months. He'd chosen to take comfort in the company of José, Jack, and, of course, the Captain.

But there was one event in his life that always drove him to the same case time and time again. It only occurred once in his life. The memory haunted him only on his loneliest nights. The case he took comfort in was Everclear. The memory? The night he left Tomahawk, Wisconsin, for Los Angeles, California. The night his father, Calvert, told him that he belonged in a garbage can.

God, his life weighed a ton…


	2. Tonto

**A/N:** Dear Jebas, two chapters in one night! ACHIEVEMENT!!! Read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Tonto**

The summer had not been particularly kind to 12-year-old Nathan Explosion. Puberty had set in, causing him to outgrow a lot of his pants and all of his shoes. His voice was deeper, too. Much deeper. He still felt very awkward in his new body. What's more, he'd taken on more of those Native American features.

The townspeople in New Port Richey, Florida, thought Nathan couldn't possibly be anything other than adopted. He didn't favor either of his parents. Of course, his mother had assured him time and time again that he was not adopted. Thanks to this summer, people were talking more than ever. He just wanted them to shut up.

The dark-haired preteen stood in the entry way of his new school, staring at all of the students crowding the hallways. Today was the first day of the school year, and, finally having reached seventh grade, Nathan had been shuttled to an entirely new school building. His classmates were pushing past him, eager to start their day.

Nathan just stood there, glaring. He didn't want to go into this new building. He didn't want to look more like his dark-haired ancestors. He didn't want to have a deep voice that still cracked sometimes. And he didn't want to be in this stupid, awkward body!

"Move it, _Tonto_!" a blonde girl snarled as she pushed past Nathan. He stared after her for a minute, watching the way her bottom swished as she walked. That was another thing about this summer: He'd begun to notice _girls_.

A teacher standing in his classroom doorway near the entrance broke Nathan out of his trance. "Come on, Tonto, time to get to class. Hurry it up, or you'll be late," the man said flatly. Nathan grunted and began walking towards his first class of the day.

He hated school.


	3. Blackout

**Blackout**

Toki hated coming to and not knowing what had taken place during the past few minutes to an hour. Bad things always came of it. After coming to, he always learned that he had somehow hurt (and killed) another human being.

Like the time they went to L. A. to find Pickles's old band, Snakes N' Barrels. That sober frat boy had been yelling in his ear about the music and how awesome it was. Toki had asked the boy several times to please stay in his own space. The next thing he knew, he was staring down at a bloody pulp and breathing heavily. Skwisgaar was talking to him softly in Swedish, telling him that everything would be okay. He later learned that _he_ was the one who had turned that frat boy into a bloody pulp.

Skwisgaar was always there for him, though. Sure, in front of everyone, Skwisgaar acted like an ass to him. But when he was alone with his Scandinavian brother, the blonde was an entirely different person. The Swedish man was truly like an older brother, in Toki's eyes. He was the only thing in Toki's life that had ever made complete sense.

After Toki's blackouts, Skwisgaar would be there, wiping blood from the Norwegian's face or stroking his back soothingly. The rhythm guitarist was eternally grateful to the lead guitarist for his uncharacteristic kindness. But this fact presented an ever-present fear for Toki's mind. It was a fear that had been there since the first blackout. Every time Toki came to, he found Skwisgaar right beside him, doing what he could to soothe the younger man. And every time, the fear grew.

What if Toki came to and Skwisgaar was no longer there?


	4. Daddy Dearest

**Daddy Dearest**

Skwisgaar never had a steady father figure. No, Servetta was too loose to keep one man around for very long. Every week (some months, it was every day!), a different face presented itself to the blonde boy so that none of them had individual features. They all melded into one big specter of a man. The Swedish boy never bothered to learn their names. The current one would be traded for a different (in Servetta's mind, better) model.

So Skwisgaar learned all his habits from his mother. He learned how to primp and pamper himself. He learned how to drink and smoke until he was numb. He learned how to fuck every problem away. But then there were things he did not get from Servetta.

There was his exceptionally tall frame. By the time he was 14 years old, he towered over the woman he called mother. There was his insatiable sex drive. Sure, Servetta had plenty of partners, but her son had resigned himself to never truly being satisfied. And of course, there was his unmatched talent with the guitar. From the moment he'd found the beautiful Gibson Explorer, his fingers had known exactly where to place themselves. It had been the one thing in his life to bring him true joy.

He had once asked his mother who his father was. Upon hearing her son's innocent question, Servetta had merely laughed and told him that he was crazy to think that she would keep track of what man had knocked her up. She had then slapped him across the face and sent him to bed without supper. That night, lying in his bed, Skwisgaar had determined there was only one answer to his question. He'd never been religious, but he'd heard that gods sometimes came down from Asgard and impregnated mortal women. He smiled and drifted to sleep with that lone, comforting thought.

Odin was his father.


	5. MurderSuicide

**A/N:** So, this "Bloodlines" project is coming along. Thanks to winter break, I haven't had much of an internet connection. So, there'll be a mass influx of stories from me when I get back to college. Whatever. Read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Murder-Suicide**

Five-year-old William Murderface trudged up the road to Grandma Stella's trailer home from the bus stop. Today had been the first day of kindergarten for the little brown-haired boy. It had also been a very eye-opening day.

At the beginning of class, the teacher had made everyone come up to the front of the room, one-by-one, and say their name, their age, their favorite color, and what job their parents had. When it was William's turn, he went up to the front and said, "My name'sch William. I'm five yearsch old. My favorite color'sch green." Here, he pointed to his t-shirt. "And I don't got parentsch. I juscht got grandparentsch." The whole class laughed at him and the teacher did her best to hide a smile.

"Willy, everyone has parents. Stop being silly," the teacher said softly.

"Yeah, well, I don't! I live with my grandparentsch!" William yelled. Tears had started falling down his cheeks as he had run back to his seat. He'd passed the rest of the day in silence.

As William walked through the front door of the trailer, he tossed his book bag down and ran into the kitchen to find Grandma Stella baking cookies. "Hey, Gramma? Where'sch my mom and dad?" the green-eyed boy asked innocently.

The elderly woman sighed heavily and replied, "Well, your dad killed your mom and then killed himself when you were a baby. They called it a 'murder-suicide case'. I'll explain it more when you're older." He nodded silently as he watched the old woman wipe a tear from her eye.

William ran to his room without another word, eager to go back to kindergarten the next day. He knew what he would announce to his class and his teacher when he walked into the classroom. And when he did, nobody would laugh. Hopefully, they would all think he was cool. He wouldn't understand his grandma's words for a few more years, but he felt confident about his parents' job.

His parents were a murder-suicide case.


	6. ShipShape

**A/N:** So, I found out that the library in my parents' hometown has free wi-fi. High five! Please disregard that statement in the previous chapter about there being a large influx of stories from me when I return to the university. And Mad Jaqi, if you're reading this, thank you for considering me for a Beta! This chapter's for you. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Ship-Shape**

In the Ofdensen household, learning and knowledge were given precedence over fun and enjoyment. Homework had to be finished long before friends could be called or television could be watched. High As were favored, low As were smiled upon, high Bs were acceptable, low Bs were frowned upon, high Cs were seen as failure, and anything below that? Well, you'd be better off walking out into a busy intersection than coming into the Ofdensen home with anything lower than a high C.

Young Charlie knew exactly what it took to please his father. Academia was not the only way. Not that Charlie did not work hard to achieve the highest marks, of course. Admiral Ofdensen, being a Navy man, ran a tight ship in his home. And Charlie knew exactly what to do to ensure that his father never looked at him with anything but pride in his eyes.

Being an only child, one would think this task easy, but Charlie knew better. He learned early that he should do whatever it took to keep his father happy. In this manner, he became an expert in the art of negotiation. The Admiral had always told his son that wars were not won on battle successes alone. A good commander knew that careful negotiations were what truly mattered. Naturally, Charlie took this lesson to heart. In fact, it was drilled into him, just as much as keeping things ship-shape was.

Charlie also learned that with hard work and careful negotiation, he could go anywhere and be anything in life. The young brown-haired boy, thanks to his father, had dreams of one day running the world. Admiral Ofdensen, unbeknownst to his little sailor, found these dreams laughable. No one man could control the world like a puppeteer.

The Admiral had no idea that his son already pulled his strings.


	7. Vintage

**Vintage**

"Gibson wants to give you a Les Paul."

Skwisgaar looked up into the hazel eyes of his manager, fingers flying over the strings of his Explorer. He knew the small man wanted to say more, so he just plucked away, staring expectantly into the bespectacled face.

"They want you to play it, uh…at the next show."

"I won'ts dos it."

The Swede's playing grew faster, angrier. He'd played nothing but his beloved Explorer ever since the day he'd found it. The beautiful, black-and-white lacquered guitar almost never left his calloused hands.

"Skwisgaar, Gibson would really appreciate it if—"

"I plays mine Explorer!"

"Yes, I know, but they're launching a new line of vintage-style Les Pauls and—"

"So, dey shoulds get littles Toki to dos it!"

Vintage. That was for dildoes. Dildoes and grandpas. Skwisgaar was neither of those things. He would not hear any more of this talk of trading part of his body to play a _vintage_ piece of crap. He closed his eyes and focused in on the way his fingers slid up and down the strings, each note reverberating within his being. As the music rose and swelled, he lost all awareness of his surroundings.

He was not aware that a vintage man still remained, also lost in the soaring ecstasy of the riff.


	8. E Nomine

**A/N:** Thanks to my FAILPod, I've got an endless supply of inspiration for my "Bloodlines" project. It's really coming along! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! You guys are really an encouragement! So, this chapter was inspired by "Vater Unser" by the German band E Nomine. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**E Nomine**

Withered hands made the sign of the cross again and again over her breasts. His knuckles were white and cold from the tightness with which he gripped the whip. There in the snow, they prayed with all their might to drive out the unholiness infesting their only child.

_E nomine patris, et filie, et spiritu sancti._

The whip cracked again, leaving another red welt on the pale skin of the chestnut-haired boy's back. Cold, dead eyes stared him down, awaiting what, he knew not. He only knew that these specters he called mother and father expected something to come out of him. As he knelt there in the cold snow, he could only let out soft whimpers and hot tears. What had he done to deserve their cruelty?

_E nomine patris, et filie, et spiritu sancti!_

Again, the sign of the cross, this time from both sets of wrinkled hands. This time, slower. This time, accompanied by the Lord's Prayer:

"Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name." _Crack_.

"Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven." _Crack_.

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." _Crack_.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, forever and ever." _Crack_.

"Amen." _Crack_.

_E NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILIE, ET SPIRITU SANCTI!_


	9. Football

**Football**

Oscar Explosion stared down at his five-year-old son, occasionally sipping from his beer can. The dark-haired boy stared right back into Oscar's eyes, daring the man to blink. Rose had left Oscar alone with his son for the afternoon. She had gone with a couple of her friends to do some shopping at the mall and maybe catch a movie that evening. It was the second time Oscar had been left alone with Nathan, the first being when the boy was just one year old.

"So, don't you want to go watch cartoons or something?" Oscar asked gruffly. Nathan continued staring. Honestly, it was starting to creep the blonde man out.

"Boy, why won't you say something? If all you're going to do is stare, then just go to your room and play." No reply came, only the cold stare. The doctor had told the Explosions that their son was "mentally handicapped". Of course, he had assured them that it was nothing serious, only a slight retardation. Rose had continued to work with Nathan, however, employing the use of flashcards and video tapes to coax her son into talking. Oscar had just written the boy off as a retard and given up his hopes of having a star football player for a son.

Oscar stood from the kitchen table and brushed past his son without another word. He headed down the hallway and out into the fenced-in backyard. Turning to shut the door, he found Nathan following after him. The blonde man rolled his eyes and continued on to his shed. Inside, he finally spoke again to his son.

"You see this, boy? This is my trophy shrine. Back when I was in high school, I played a game called 'football'. I kept this stuff, hoping I'd have a son who could play, just like I did. But the doctor says you're a retard." Nathan stared up at his father, his brows lowering another centimeter. "I guess I could still teach you to catch."

He grabbed the football from its place on its display stand and walked back out into the yard. Nathan silently went to stand a few feet away from his father, facing him expectantly. They tossed the ball back and forth for a few minutes, but Nathan couldn't really throw or catch all that well. Oscar soon gave up and began to walk back inside. But something stopped him. He looked down to find his son tugging on his pants leg and holding the football.

"Teach me to play football, Daddy."


	10. Freedom

**A/N:** Thanks again for all the reviews on this project! You guys are all awesome!! I've got a week left of my winter break. I wish I had longer…I'm not ready to go back to school yet! I mean, sure, I'm ready to see my friends and my fiancé, but I'm not ready for all the work. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Freedom**

The bus rumbled along, desert scenery rolling by so that it melded into one big blur for Pickles. He sat in the back of the bus, his duffle bag tucked under one arm. He'd been on this bus for a week now and the stubble on his chin proved it. None of the other passengers bothered him, except for one older lady who'd tried pushing her Jehovah's Witness beliefs on him. She'd even offered to trim his shaggy red hair, if only he would listen to her. But he had just stared her down with his blazing emerald eyes until she gave up.

He heard the distinctive flick of a lighter and looked up to find a man just a little older than himself lighting a cigarette. The man had long dark hair and a goatee. On top of his head, he wore a tattered top hat.

"Hey dere, Chief. Can I bum a smoke?" Pickles asked. The man silently held up a pack and his lighter. Pickles took the lighter and a stick, lit up, and handed the man back his lighter. As he stood up and pushed his window down, he noticed a major change in the scenery: The bus was now rolling to a stop on the Sunset Strip. Pickles grabbed his bag, walked towards the front of the bus, and got off. The man in the top hat got off behind him.

"Hey, Chief?" Pickles called to the man. "You know where a guy could get some'in ta eat around here?"

The man turned around and eyed the redhead. "Sure. Follow me, kid. You, uh…You ain't from around here, huh?"

"Nope. From Tomahawk," Pickles answered as he begun trailing along behind the man.

"You're a long way from home," the man remarked. "Name's Tony. What can I call you?"

"Pickles."

Tony stared down at the redhead for a long while before saying, "'S a funny name for a kid like you. What brings you all the way out to L. A., Pickles?"

"I wanted freedom."


	11. Loner

**A/N:** Murderface doesn't really get a lot of attention. Not as much as the other guys, anyways. This chapter is inspired by R.E.M.'s "Fretless". Good song. You should give it a listen. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy.

~Larien~

**Loner**

William Murderface never really had friends to speak of. Sure, there were a couple of guys he sat with at lunch, but he wouldn't call them friends. One guy, named Tim, was a nerdy kid with coke-bottle glasses. He never said much. Mostly he just sat and picked at his food. The other guy, Rolfe, was a foreigner. He had a thick accent and always asked William what words meant.

All throughout elementary and middle school, William hadn't noticed it. Then in junior high school, his loneliness surfaced. Sure, he had Tim and Rolfe, but they weren't really his friends. They were just the only other souls society had cast out. In high school, when everyone started dating, it only got worse. Sure, William liked girls. He liked to watch their breasts bounce as they ran in gym class. He liked to watch their bottoms sway as they walked down the hallways. And he liked the way they smelled, when they happened to stand close enough for him to catch their scent. But no girl ever approached him, so he never approached them.

Maybe that's what caused William's cold demeanor. He didn't want to be hurt, so he perfected the art of being a dick. His parents had left him when he was only a baby. Who's to say his peers wouldn't leave him now that he was older? That must be it. He made himself lonely. He'd been alone since he was a baby. And he liked it that way!

But there were nights that he hated it. There were nights that he laid awake in bed, tears occasionally running down his temples, specters of his peers taunting him. He was alone in the world and he always would be. No one would understand that. No one would understand how much it hurt.

No one could talk to him about being alone.


	12. Enabler

**Enabler**

"Ka-ka-ka yeah!"

"Shh! Dr. Rockso, you gots ta be quiet!"

"Oh. Sorry, buh-buh-baby."

It was 2:43 in the morning. Toki Wartooth and Dr. Rockso, the Rock-n-Roll clown, were sneaking through the halls of Mordhaus. The young Norwegian had no reason to go sneaking throughout his own home, but the has-been clown was not a welcomed guest, and Toki did not want his friend to be beaten again.

"Oh, I can't wait to get me some a' that sweet cocaine, daddy!" Dr. Rockso whispered. The pair was now coming upon Pickles's door. Dr. Rockso had called Toki almost half an hour ago, and when the rhythm guitarist had found the clown, he was sputtering about how he needed his fix. Knowing their drummer kept a secret stash of the white powder that the cocaine fiend craved, Toki had brought him back to Mordhaus.

Toki pressed his ear to the door of the redhead's room and listened for a couple of seconds. When he was satisfied that Pickles was asleep, he stood and slowly turned the knob. The mismatched pair picked their way across the bottle-strewn floor of the darkened room to the Yooper's closet. Toki rummaged through the back of it while Dr. Rockso nervously looked back and forth between his friend and the bed.

"Haha, I founds it!" Toki quietly exclaimed, producing the plastic baggy, complete with razor blade.

"Mmm…Buns…Rocka….Fries…" murmured the heap on the bed. The pair froze, praying to whatever deities would listen that Pickles did not wake up. Dr. Rockso assumed their prayers were answered and sat down in the floor. He opened the bag and arranged several lines of cocaine.

Pulling a straw out of his jumpsuit, the clown snorted two lines and yelled, "Ka-ka-ka YEAH, BUH-BUH-BABY!" Toki cringed, knowing Pickles would soon be awake. As he feared, the drummer sat straight up in his bed and stared in the pair's direction.

"TOKI, WHAT DA HELL?!" Pickles screeched. "GET DA FUCK OUTTA MY ROOM! WHAT DA HELL IS DAT CLOWN DOIN' HERE?!" At that moment, three klokateers rushed into the room, flicked on the lights, and promptly began beating the clown.

Toki hated being an enabler.


	13. Charles in Charge

**A/N:** So, school's back in session. I'm so glad to be back on campus! And to see my friends…But I'm not ready for classes to start…This chapter's dedicated to my twin, Celeste, since she's a Charlie fangirl and she gave me the idea for this chapter. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Charles in Charge**

Charles sat in the plush chair behind his large desk glaring at a pile of paperwork sitting in front of him. Lately, his boys had come up with an unprecedented amount of inane ideas. Sure, the CFO was used to Dethklok's antics, but sometimes he wondered if ruling the world was worth an early grave.

First, Toki had come in early that morning, excited and blabbing about how he wanted to build an amusement park on the Mordhaus grounds. He assured his brunette manager that the park didn't have to be big. The little rhythm guitarist only asked that Charles look into building an amusement park. Naturally, the CFO was obligated to agree.

Next came Nathan, carrying a few pieces of paper with crudely-drawn pictures of bloody women. He shoved them in Charles's face and said, "I have concept art. For…uh…a video game. Yeah." The older man accepted the sketches, a bit taken aback at the realization that the burly front man knew what "concept art" actually was. Nathan then produced a flash drive and said, "On here's a Word document. It's the storyline for the game." Charles accepted this, too, and as the dark-haired man left, he began researching video game production teams.

After Nathan came Pickles. The redhead kind of half-stumbled, half-fell into the CFO's office and smirked up at the man. It seemed that the drummer wanted to get in touch with his Irish roots. He was blabbering on about going to Dublin for a week or two, taking step-dancing lessons, learning to play the bodhran, and maybe even learning to speak Gaelic. Charles immediately began lining up a couple of special body guards, searching for good deals on plane tickets and a hotel room, and looking into private instructors.

Skwisgaar and Murderface came together. Skwisgaar was currently in the middle of five paternity suits and only wanted all the legal jargon explained to him. Murderface was, yet again, complaining about his side band, Planet Piss. The two man-children began arguing over who deserved Charles's attention more, and this soon escalated into a brawl. Charles, used to this behavior, quickly resolved the fight by sending both men out of his office and locking himself in. He then quickly downed four Ibuprofens and loosened his tie.

Some days, the mousy manager hated being Charles in Charge…


	14. Grandma's Boy

**Grandma's Boy**

Skwisgaar Skwigelf certainly had his pick of the ladies. Being the lead guitarist of the most famous band on the planet had its perks. All manner of women passed through his chambers: short ones, tall ones, skinny ones, fat ones, white ones, black ones, and everything in between. He fucked them all just the same.

His favorites were the grandmas. Grandmas gave him special care. They always asked about his health, if he was happy, or if something was bothering him. Unlike their younger peers, the grandmas let him vent, rant, and sometimes cry. They at least acted like they cared about him. They gave him the love he never received from his slut of a mother.

Servetta never showed her son the true compassion he needed. Moreover, she was the reason Skwisgaar led the life he led. She taught him how to be cold, cruel, and not give a damn who he slept with.

The grandmas made up for Servetta's shortcomings. They showed the guitar god the attention he craved most. They allowed him to forget about the woman he called "mother".

They made him feel loved.


	15. Plastic Stars

**A/N:** So, I wrote this fic randomly today. I had the song "Plastic Stars" by Freezepop stuck in my head. It's such an adorable song! You should go check it out now. For real. Go. Open up a new tab, go to YouTube or somewhere else where you can find music, find the song, let it load, and listen to it while you read this installment of "Bloodlines". And yes, the boys are just being cute. Because it's a cute song…Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Plastic Stars**

Toki sat cross-legged on the couch in the rec room. In his hands was his latest model: a rocket ship closely modeled after the one from America's first moon landing. He was flying it around, making rocket ship noises and talking to the tiny pretend passengers in broken English.

On the other end of the couch sat Pickles. He was nursing a Tequila Sunrise and flipping through channels on the big screen TV. There really wasn't anything on, but channel-flipping was something to do. Nathan and Skwisgaar were in the studio working with Murderface on his bass lines for the next song, so Pickles really wasn't needed there. He truthfully didn't care to be anywhere near the studio at this time.

Growing bored with the TV, Pickles looked over to where Toki sat. He watched the young Norwegian playing with the model. Suddenly, a faint idea sparked in the drummer's turbid mind.

"Whatcha doin' dere, chief?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Is play wit' dis rocketslaser ship," Toki replied cheerily.

"Wanna make it more fun?"

"How I ams to be doings dat, Pickle?"

"Follow me," the redhead said as he stood up. Toki did as he was told, excited at the prospect of having more fun. The pair reached Pickles's room quickly and the drummer immediately dove under his bed, grunting and wiggling his rear end in the air. He finally emerged, red-faced, with an old, dusty shoebox. He took the lid off and presented it to his rhythm guitarist.

"Oh, wowee! What's am dese?" Toki asked excitedly, taking the box.

"Dey're plastic stars. Dey glow in da dark. Dey used ta be da best t'ing ever when I was a kid. Ya gaht yer mom ta buy ya some and ya stuck 'em all over yer ceilin' and walls in yer bedroom. Den ya had yer own private galaxy," Pickles explained.

Toki smiled at the Yooper. "I cans haves dem? For de serial?"

"Yep. I'm passin' my galaxy on ta you, kid," the redhead smiled back. Toki hugged him tightly and then bounded out of the room. A second later, he poked his head back in through the door.

"Hey, Pickle? Dis ams still you gaxalky. Comes to helping me do da hangings?"


	16. Human Contact

**A/N:** Jeezy, it's been a while since I updated this little project. I really should stop ignoring it. Really. I should. This chapter was inspired by a Dr. Tran video on YouTube. It was the first part of "100% Ice", a 3-part video set. Something Fat Fred said made me giggle and think of Nathan's "hug therapy". Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Human Contact**

Pickles was startled out of his hang-over-and-Advil-induced sleep by a very loud pounding on his door. It was shortly followed by a gruff voice yelling, "PIIIIICKLLLLES!" The small drummer squeezed his eyes shut and drug his hands over his face. When the pounding on his door and the yelling of his name did not cease, he rolled over and glared at his clock. It was 9:52 am. The redhead groaned, felt around on his floor for a bottle, and half-heartedly chunked it in the general direction of his door. It fell short of its mark and shattered on the floor.

"GO AWEEY! GAHD!" Pickles yelled, pulling his pillow over his face. The pounding stopped, only to be replaced by what sounded like big black boots connecting repeatedly with hard wooden door. Pickles growled and threw his pillow at the door. It, too, fell short, landing at the foot of his bed. "SHUT UP, ALREADY, NAT'EN! AH'M UP!" He hauled himself up and stumbled to the door, making sure to avoid the broken glass.

As Pickles opened the door, he was greeted by a pair of thick arms wrapping around him, hoisting him up, and crushing his face into a massive chest. The smaller man struggled in vain against his assailant. Finally, the larger man dropped his victim unceremoniously onto his bottom.

"Nat'en, dood, whet de Hell?" Pickles screeched as he glared up at his burly front man.

"Dude, I just wanted some human contact," Nathan grinned down at him. "Don't be a fag."


	17. Stronger

**A/N:** College life is pretty busy right now, but I still manage to find time to churn out a quick chapter…To my twin, I promise I will get Chapter 3 of "Bookworm" up as soon as possible…Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Stronger**

Young Charlie trudged home as slowly as he could that day. Tears stained his face. His glasses were concealed in the depths of his backpack, lying broken in a plastic baggy. A piece of tissue plugged his left nostril. There were a couple of drops of blood on his shirt collar. As he thought about what his father might say—and do—to him, fresh tears began to spill from his hazel eyes.

Charlie's first-grade mind did not register the fact that he had done nothing to provoke that fifth-grader. He did not feel that his father would look beyond the broken spectacles and stained shirt collar to see that Charlie hadn't suffered more than a black eye and a bloody nose. He certainly was not expecting his father to begin teaching him self-defense. And the supper of burgers and milkshakes would have been laughed at, had the brunette boy thought of it.

All of Charlie's fears were quickly dissolved when his mother hugged him and began cleaning him up while his father told Charlie of his own troubles with school bullies. Charlie respected, idolized, and loved his father. The Admiral was Charlie's hero.

Later that night, as Charlie finished off his burger, he swore to himself that, like his father, he would become stronger.


	18. Special

**A/N:** Sorry for letting this project die down a little. I've been really busy with college and life…I'll try to crank out more chapters for this soon! Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Special**

"Mr. Murderface, nice to see you again," the man behind the large desk said sarcastically. He opened a manila file folder and casually leafed through the loose papers within. "Only fifteen years old and already such a model citizen. Failing the eighth grade a second time, cussing at your teachers, and threatening your fellow students." William grunted at his principal and stared out the window. "Young man?" Here, the principal steepled his fingers and leaned forward. "You'll never graduate. You're too stupid. Of course, that's not your fault. A child with no parents rarely succeeds in life."

At this, William glared straight into his principal's eyes. "You can schay that all you want! It won't make your weenie any bigger!"

The principal sat back, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Son, I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help you. I'm your princi_pal_."

"Scho put me in easchier classchesch, dickweed."

The principal smiled, and for some reason, it made William very nervous. "I've been discussing that same subject with the school counselor, your English teacher, and your math teacher. In order to help you succeed and graduate, we've decided to place you in _special_ classes. You'll begin your new schedule next week."

William's eyes lit up and he grinned his gap-toothed grin. It seemed that things were finally looking up for him.


	19. Losing My Religion

**A/N:** Sorry, it's been quite a while since I've had any inspiration for this series…But, over the weekend, I watched a clip of a TV show that several of my friends are into. And it sparked this. A KRILLION COOL KID POINTS TO ANYBODY WHO CATCHES THE MINOR REFERENCE. Anyways, read, review, and enjoy!

~Larien~

**Losing My Religion**

He stood there in his old bedroom, long chestnut locks covering his face. His band mates, if they were brave enough to set foot inside his old home, would make fun of him if they saw him crying like this. He swiped at the tears with the back of his hand, angry they were daring to fall from his pale blue eyes.

"I don'ts misses him. Nei. I forgives him, buts I not misses him."

Numbly, he walked over to his small dresser. It was adorned with small statues. Each one had perfect little wings, perfect little hands, perfect little feet, perfect little robes, and a perfect little face. He remembered them well. _Engel_, his mother had told him. They were angels. God's servants. _Mor_ and _Far_ had always told him that if he lived a good enough life, he would become an angel when he died.

"I's not good enoughs. I nevers was. I nevers will be. I not wantings to be."

With one quick strike of his arm, he sent the small statues flying off of the dresser and turned on his heel to leave his room for the last time. However, something just did not sit right. As he rejoined his band mates in the cold Norwegian snow, Toki felt that one of the statues had been _watching_ him, waiting for him to turn his back. And as he'd knocked them off of his dresser, he could have sworn that one of them, the biggest one, had let its perfect little mask slip into the ugliest sneer he'd ever seen.


	20. Accident

**A/N:** Wow, I haven't added anything to this in quite some time. This chapter's inspired by Pink's "Just Like a Pill". Slash if you squint, I guess. Read, review, and enjoy.

~Larien~

**Accident**

He was lying in the floor, pants unfastened. A used needle was clutched tightly in his hand. Pickles swallowed the bile that rose in his throat and crossed the dirty apartment floor.

"Tony," he said, toeing the bassist in the ribs. "Tony, git up."

The dark-haired man mumbled something and rolled over, away from the singer's boots. "_Mama, lasciare. Non ho bisogno di morfina_," Tony mumbled. He lifted his hands, letting the heroine needle fall to the floor.

"Tony, I ain't yer ma! Git up!" Pickles was yelling now. He had to fight harder to keep from vomiting all over his friend.

Tony finally sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. "Pickles? Uh…_Mio Dio_, I feel like shit."

"Yeeuh, naht surprised," the redhead replied tersely, glaring down at the needle.

Tony followed his line of site and paled. "Uh…It…It was an accident. I swear. I didn't mean to—"

"Save it, Antonio. I don' wanna hear it. It ain' no accident. Ya prahmised me ya wouldn' _ever_ do dis again! Ya _prahmised_, dood! An' I come home ta find ya passed out, pahssibly _dead_?" Pickles turned on his heel, pressing his hand to his mouth suddenly. He felt as if his stomach were about to empty itself right there if he so much as looked at Tony.

"Red, I'm sorry," Tony said softly, standing, zipping his pants, and putting a hand on Pickles's shoulder. The Midwesterner angrily shrugged the hand away and made his way towards his bedroom.

"'Sahrry' don' cut it, Thunderbahttom!" he yelled as he slammed the door shut.

Tony stood alone in the living room, staring after his friend. "It was an accident," he repeated to himself.

**Translation:** "_Mama, lasciare. Non ho bisogno di morfina._" – "Mama, leave. I do not need morphine."

"_Mio Dio._" – "My God."


End file.
